


Soul Words ~ Eros

by randomwriter57



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Alternating, except for the fact that soulmates are a thing, the one where your first words to your soulmate are tattooed on their body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomwriter57/pseuds/randomwriter57
Summary: Nothing ‘clicks’ for Yuuri after his sixteenth glass of champagne.
(What are you supposed to do when you show up at your soulmate's door, and they have no idea that you're soulmates?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a soulmate AU where the first words you speak to your soulmate are tattooed on their body.  
> Then episode ten happened and made my fic redundant.  
> I wrote another, more canon-compliant (I hope) version (that's this one). Since I like [the first one too](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8841319), I decided to post both.  
> I hope you enjoy these two victuuri fics!

Nothing ‘clicks’ for Yuuri after his sixteenth glass of champagne. That’s exactly what he wants - no sudden understanding, feelings of regret tangled in liquor. He wants the bubbling feeling of forgetting. As though the carbon dioxide in his body will make him float right out of the banquet hall, away from this too-serious crowd of strangers.

It’s his first Grand Prix Final. His first post-final banquet. Later, he will use this excuse as the blame for him not understanding the conventional atmosphere of the event. It’s black tie for a reason, after all.

Not that Yuuri’s blue tie (black doesn’t match his suit) stays round his neck for long. He takes after his father, rather embarrassingly, in his tendencies to lose all control after a few drinks. And sure, maybe he won’t remember this night in a year’s time. His only memories might be the sorrow and loneliness he feels at the beginning of the banquet, still steeped in failure. But that’s what Yuuri wants. He doesn’t want to remember. Commemorative photos? Why would he want to commemorate an embarrassment like his performance at the finals? No, he drinks to forget that. To forget his awkwardness and shame. He drinks to free himself, to become more than a few words on Victor Nikiforov’s wrist.

The more he drinks, the less he can read the letters marking his wrist, and all the better. Who needs to read? Who needs to remember words spoken by someone who will never see him as an equal? He doesn’t want to think. He wants to move.

 

* * *

 

 

In all his life, not once has Victor imagined that the first words his soulmate speaks to him would be in this context.

At first, it’s a formal event. As always. The banquet after the Grand Prix Finals is more of a formality than a celebration. It’s a chance for coaches to show off their prized skaters and to attract sponsors and supporters for the next season.

Victor has never been interested in formalities. They’re too boring. Predictable. He knows, at the end of the night, that he will walk away from this banquet hall with a few new sponsors. The reports will gush about his designer suit and impeccable manners. Yakov will, for once, be pleased.

Then Katsuki Yuuri appears. He has been skulking around all evening - Victor noticed him, couldn’t help but to notice him, especially after their earlier encounter - but as far as he can tell, he hasn’t said a word to anyone. For a moment, Victor wonders if Yuuri is mute. After all, when he offered him a photo earlier, Yuuri walked away without a word then, too.

But Katsuki Yuuri isn’t the same with sixteen glasses of champagne fizzing in his veins. He staggers to the centre of the hall, dizzied by the alcohol. In his hand is a bottle of champagne, cork already popped. Victor watches on, an eyebrow raised not in disbelief but in amusement. Perhaps, on this particular occasion, the event won’t be as formal as usual.

Yuuri starts dancing. It’s awkward, since he’s the only one dancing and it doesn’t fit the music in the slightest. But the goofy smile on his face does not fail to make the corners of Victor’s lips quirk upward. This boy is completely different now from how he was even ten minutes ago. It’s as though he is free, now, no longer shackled by anxiety and embarrassment. He actually looks like he’s having fun. More so than he did even when he was skating, both in the short programme and the free skate combined. Yuuri might not be a gold medal winner, but coming from the holder of that title, it seems as though Yuuri has won something more precious than a lump of gold to add to his collection.

It’s a natural reaction, Victor reasons with himself as he pulls out his phone, for him to want to take a photo of something like this. After all, you don’t see this kind of thing at every Grand Prix Final banquet. The moment he opens the camera app, however, Yuuri comes over to him.

“A commemorative photo?” Yuuri slurs, words garbled by alcohol.

Victor manages to hear them as clear as day. How could he not? Those three words - ones offered to Yuuri hours before, ones which burn on his wrist under his suit jacket - he knows them better than his own name. But no, this can’t be…

Yuuri doesn’t notice Victor’s reaction, too busy laughing. He garbles something else - it’s all gibberish, a mixture of English and Japanese. He taps the back of Victor’s phone, and Victor’s thumb brushes the ‘capture’ button, storing the action in its memory. Then Yuuri moves away, drawn to dancing again. He turns back to Victor and yells, “Take as many as you like!” Or, at least, Victor thinks he says that. In any case, he obliges, grinning as he photographs Yuuri’s drunken dance, staggering across the hall chugging champagne straight from the bottle.

There must be a misunderstanding, Victor thinks. Do first words count if they’re spoken when the person is drunk? Then again, out of context the words on Victor’s wrist never did make much sense. Was it fate for him to speak those words, and to have them returned hours later?

Yuuri stumbles back over, holds up his champagne bottle. Victor snaps a picture. “’S really good.”

“It is,” Victor replies, letting himself relax. For now, he won’t think about that. He’s at a party, and it looks like the fun is just beginning.

“Oi, Victor,” a voice says, and he turns his head to see the Russian Yuri approaching with his usual scowl. “What’re you talking to that fucking guy for?”

Victor frowns and goes to reprimand him, but Yuuri butts in first.

“You,” he says, pointing a wavering finger at the other Yuri. “Dance battle.”

“Hah?” Yuri says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Dance battle,” Yuuri repeats. “C’mon, fight me.”

Stifling a laugh behind his hand, Victor turns to Yuri. “Go on, it’ll be fun!”

Yuri glares at him and goes to yell something, but then Yuuri is grasping his wrist, pulling him to the centre of the hall-turned dance floor. A minute later, despite his own protests, Yuri is dancing too.

This is the best thing Victor has seen in a while. He claps along to the music, watching in earnest as the two Yuris battle it out on the dance floor, pulling out their best moves. Victor is surprised at how well Yuuri can dance, even whilst drunk. For a second, Victor entertains the thought that Yuuri’s Finals skates might have gone better if he had a drink in him, then shakes the thought from his head. No, that would be dangerous for everyone involved.

Beside him, Christophe Giaccometti pulls out his own phone, grinning. “Never thought I’d see a dance off at a banquet.”

“Neither did I,” Victor says with a grin.

At first, Yuri doesn’t seem too into the dance off, but the more he dances, the more competitive he becomes. When Yuuri starts popping out break-dance moves, Yuri is quick to follow. It becomes a spectacle for the whole hall to enjoy, watching these two battle.

Victor ends up moving to the other side to get some more photos, laughing all the time as he does. He hasn’t smiled this much in so long, _too_ long, and it’s an overwhelming feeling, to feel so light with only a glass of champagne in his blood.

The real entertainment, however, begins after the dance battle concludes with Yuuri victorious. God knows why there is a pole in the hall to begin with, but Victor can’t complain with what it brings to the party. He lost track of Yuuri’s clothing changes between the dance battle and his next Great Feat, but he _certainly_ isn’t complaining that his trousers have disappeared without trace. Especially not when Yuuri wraps his legs around the pole and begins to pole dance like a pro.

Even drunk, Yuuri moves with grace and effortlessness. Victor won’t be surprised if he learns that Yuuri went to pole dancing lessons at one point. It takes strength to balance yourself on a pole like that. And somehow, Yuuri manages to look beautiful doing it. More than beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Sexy. And even though he’s far away and the exposed writing on his wrist is tiny, barely legible, Victor allows himself to hope the three words match his own.

Christophe, of course, can never resist an opportunity to show off. He ends off stripping and joining Yuuri on the pole, Adonis and Aphrodite, showing off their beauty to the room. As much as Victor would love to watch them dance all evening, however, it makes sense for someone to get them down and ask, _politely_ , if they would please put their clothes back on, since there are minors in the room.

(Victor side-eyes Yuri, who has been taking photos the entire time on his stupid leopard-print phone.)

The high point comes when Yuuri, who hasn’t quite gotten around to finding his trousers yet, stumbles over to him, tie wrapped around his head, glasses returned to his face, and wraps his arms around him. His body heats up, feeling Yuuri’s hips move against his own, and he tries to focus on the string of Japanese coming from Yuuri’s mouth. Then Yuuri stops moving and looks up at him, eyes sparkling with emotion, his cheeks red from the alcohol. Victor can’t take his eyes off him.

“Be my coach, Victor!” Yuuri says, finally speaking in English, then throwing his arms around Victor’s neck to hug him again.

That’s when it clicks for Victor.

He is falling for this boy. Hard.

 

 

They dance, after that.

Because, apparently, Yuuri’s Japanese rambling had been an invitation to a dance battle. Probably. Or at least, that’s what Victor gathers when Yuuri (after finding his trousers and replacing his tie, due to popular demand) pulls him to the centre of the room and starts dancing.

Victor doesn’t do pairs skating, so dancing with another person is new to him. But it’s exciting. He loves new things. So he dances, at first imitating Yuuri’s movements. Then he starts getting into it more, having more fun, and he’s not dancing beside Yuuri anymore, he’s dancing _with_ Yuuri. He pulls off his suit jacket and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, puffs his chest out and holds his jacket like a cape. Yuuri advances, dancing as the bull in this battle, his face challenging and seductive. They dance toward each other, challenging each other.

Then the dance changes, and Victor puts his jacket back on. For a moment, Yuuri frowns, but when Victor continues to dance, it is chased out by a satisfied grin. They end up in each other’s arms, dancing as though it’s a pairs skate. Yuuri behind him, holding his waist, arm stretched beside his. But Victor isn’t looking at his arm - he’s looking at his face, that self-assured confidence which is nothing like the man he met hours ago. Yuuri shifts his hold and dips Victor to the ground, one hand on his head, the other on his leg, and Victor’s smile becomes so wide it hurts, filled with bubbling joy. When is the last time he had this much fun at a banquet? Or at any skating event at all?

When is the last time he loved life this much?

It ends before he wants it to, as every happy moment does. The champagne fizzes out, the party disbands, and Yuuri disappears, like Cinderella from the ball, gone without a trace. The next morning, too, he is not in the hotel reserved for skaters. Gone.

If only Victor had a glass slipper, or anything he could track Yuuri down with. But all he has are the words on his wrist and the hope that, one day, he will find that man again. The one who, for one night, showed him everything he’s been missing in life.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Yuuri awakens with a sour taste on his tongue. He groans when he opens his eyes, the light blinding him momentarily, sending bright spots through his irises. Last night, he shouldn’t have drank so much. How much did he drink, anyway? He can’t remember.

A hand finds its way into his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. His eyes focus on the only thing they can see clearly, the words on his wrist, weaving between his veins.

_Victor…_

Can it be possible that this man is his soulmate? He should have spoken to Victor, made sure of it. But he walked away without realising, and didn’t make an attempt at the banquet, either. What an idiot.

Yuuri closes his eyes again, pulling the covers over his head to block out the light. He doesn’t want to think. He wants to return to champagne-filled blissful ignorance. To last night.

 

* * *

 

 

Three months pass before Victor hears anything about his soulmate again.

Those three months are uneventful, save for Victor’s pondering over the future of his career. For a long time, he’s known that this season might be his last. He can’t find the inspiration to continue skating in a way which will surprise people. If he can’t do that, then what’s the point in him continuing?

He’ll finish this season, he decides. The World Series is almost at an end, and so is the season.

And so, he ends the season with another gold medal, one earned through the most heartfelt performance he could give. _Stay Close To Me and Never Let Me Go_. It feels so much more meaningful, now he has someone to skate it for. A feeling of what those feelings are. Love. Life. And he’s only had a taste of it.

Seeing that same programme skated by his soulmate settles it in his mind. It feels like fate - it must be. They’re connected by fate. Yuuri must feel it too. This must be why he chose to skate this programme. Is he reaching out to Victor? Trying to send the same message Victor was sending through that skate?

In any case, seeing it reminds him. He hadn’t forgotten about that night - how could he? Yuuri gave him a night filled with love, the best night of his life. There has been no other moment in his life which he has wanted to treasure so much as that night.

Yuuri’s video brings that night back to his memory. And that’s when he decides.

He books a flight to Japan.

 

* * *

 

This can’t be happening.

Victor Nikiforov can’t be in his living room.

Except he is.

Yuuri is on the verge of crisis, seeing this man in the flesh, having seen him in the flesh and _literally nothing else_ only half an hour ago. And now he’s in his living room, only a green robe covering his body.

Well, his wrist isn’t covered. In fact, the way it lies, wrist facing up, makes it seem as though Victor wants the world to see the words on it. Yuuri knows they’re less conservative about soulmate marks in other countries, but this seems excessive.

Or maybe Yuuri is only more conscious of it due to his own mark. Due to the realisation he had after the Grand Prix Final. Reading the words on Victors wrist will either confirm or deny that realisation. He doesn’t want to look without permission, but something within him aches to take a peek. To know the truth.

Finally, he gives in. Trying to ignore his fear of being close to Victor, he leans closer, squinting to make out the words written in faint cursive.

_A commemorative photo?_

What?

Yuuri leans back, looks at his own wrist. Then back at Victor’s wrist.

A commemorative photo.

They have the exact same words on their wrists.

This is some strange, horrible, twisted coincidence. But it provides him with two conclusions.

One: Victor must be blasé, to speak the words which bond him to his soulmate so freely, to a stranger no less.

Two: Victor cannot be his soulmate. After all, Yuuri hadn’t spoken to him at all until their meeting in the outdoor hot spring, and the first words he spoke there had nothing to do with a commemorative photo.

He tries to ignore the sinking of his heart, all of his hopes depleting to nothing. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up by thinking so much about it as something true. Victor as his soulmate. He should have known that was wishful thinking.

At least this way, he won’t get too attached, Yuuri decides. There’s no way Victor will want to stay here with him. He’s a five-time gold medal winning figure skating star. He has much better things to be doing than staying here with Yuuri, right?

 

* * *

 

 

Victor never wants to leave Hatsetsu.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But he loves this town. He loves the onsen and Yuuri’s family and the Ice Palace. He loves the beach, the sound of gulls crying in the morning. It’s so different from everything he’s experienced before, living in Russia. And he loves it.

The only problem is that Yuuri is acting strangely. He isn’t acknowledging their night together at the banquet, nor does he speak at all about soulmates, even when Victor brings it up in conversation. At first, Victor figures he’s playing hard to get. He’s trying to make sure Victor is here to stay. That must be it, right?

But Yuuri continues to avoid the subject. Even when he finally becomes more comfortable around Victor, he still gives no indication that he remembers that night at all. But he must, right?

Eventually, Victor starts to forget about their soulmate bond. His relationship with Yuuri is more than words. He wants Yuuri to be as comfortable as possible, too. And that’s what he’ll do.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri is in love with Victor.

He’s had a crush for the longest time, and though he’s tried to stop himself, he couldn’t help falling in love, in the end. There’s something about Victor which draws him in, irresistible. Everything about Victor is irresistible. Not only his good points, but his flaws, too. They prove he’s human.

When Victor shatters his heart in the car park, he knows it isn’t on purpose. Or at least, he doesn’t intend to hurt him. He wants to help him. Yuuri knows that. But he also knows that Victor has no idea how to do that right now without hurting him. It’s okay, though. Victor is human.

Yuuri skates his free skate to prove his feelings for Victor. The fact that he forgives Victor. The fact that he loves him. The quad flip proves that.

Afterwards, he knows Victor might be mad. He’ll probably get a lecture at the kiss and cry for messing up on some of his jumps. Then Victor starts to run, and Yuuri’s hopes rise. He skates towards Victor, holding out his arms.

Victor kisses him.

 

* * *

 

After celebrating Yuuri's silver medal, they return to the hotel, hands clasped together. The moment the door closes behind them, the distance is obliterated. Who starts it, they aren't sure. All Victor knows is that one second they're at the door, and the next he's on the bed, Yuuri leaning over him. It all feels very eros.

Before Victor can lose himself in the kiss, however, Yuuri pulls back. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of his flushed cheeks, his hair coming loose from its slicked-back style in Victor's hands.

"Victor," Yuuri breathes.

"Yuuri," Victor breathes back. Gently, he takes Yuuri's left hand in his own, runs his lips along the veins.

"Should we be doing this?" Yuuri asks. His eyes are shimmering, looking for something in Victor's words. "Won't your soulmate mind?"

"What are you talking about?" Victor feels his eyebrows furrow and regrets the lines frowning will later form.

Looking down at their wrists, Yuuri leans away. "I am not your soulmate."

"What? Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

“The banquet last year. After the Grand Prix Final.”

“I remember. I had just suffered a huge failure, and I wouldn’t talk to anyone. Not even you.”

Understanding dawns on Victor. The past year makes much more sense. _He doesn’t remember._ He starts laughing out of relief. Yuuri stares at him.

“Victor, what are you laughing at?”

“You don’t remember,” Victor says between breaths. “I knew you were drunk, but I didn’t think you were _that_ drunk.”

For a second, Yuuri only stares at Victor. Then his eyes widen and he blanches. “What did I do?”

They untangle to sit beside each other, and Victor begins to describe the party to Yuuri. He starts with the more embarrassing moments, spending an aching amount of detail on Yuuri's pole dancing in particular. Once he's sure Yuuri is embarrassed enough about what he did with other people, he tells him about their interactions. About their dance together. Yuuri holding onto him and asking him to be his coach. He pulls out his phone and navigates to the one album of photos from that Grand Prix Final. Five photos, all of which he spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at in the months between the final and April.

He opens the first picture he took. Yuuri grimaces. “I look terrible.”

“This was you at your _least_ drunk,” Victor says. “You tapped my phone and my thumb hit the capture button. I didn’t even mean to take the photo.”

“I’m so close to the camera,” Yuuri says. “What did I say to you?”

Victor holds up his wrist again. “You threw my own words back in my face. Told me to take as many photos as I wanted.”

Yuuri's gaze shifts from Victor's wrist to his eyes. “You mean…”

Taking hold of Yuuri’s hand in his own, Victor looks him in the eye in all seriousness. “Katsuki Yuuri, you are my soulmate. You might not remember saying the words on my wrist, but I swear against my own life that you did.”

For a moment, he is shocked. Then his expression melts into happiness, eyes glistening with tears. He launches forward, holding Victor as though he will never let go. Victor hopes he won't let go.

“I’m so glad…!”

Victor pulls back to look into Yuuri's eyes, falling in love all over again with the emotions welling up in them. "I love you so much, Yuuri."

"I love you too," Yuuri says, his smile melding with Victor's when he presses forward for a kiss.

As Victor relaxes into the kiss, his last thought is a message of gratitude for the one who gave him life and love.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at [randomactuallywrites-57](http://randomactuallywrites-57.tumblr.com) on tumblr | [@randomwriter57](http://twitter.com/randomwriter57) on twitter!


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